The Eastern Front
by Liacat
Summary: Germany has waged another World War, striking down country after country.  Now his next target is Russia, who is unprepared.  This is what actually happened in World War II, but Hetala-sized.
1. A Fateful Decision

"I say we take the war to Russia."

Germany turned around, staring at his boss with barely disguised skepticism. He smoothed back his slick blonde hair, his icy blue eyes cold and unfeeling.

"Yes, and then we'll have another World War I. You know what happened last time we tried battling on two fronts." World War I had been a disaster. Germany had tried fighting on two fronts, but was soon crushed because of lack of man power and offenses stretched too thin. After the war had ended, the Allies held a meeting at France's place. France had been incredibly angry at Germany and the failure of the _Maginot _Line, and had put most of the blame on Germany. In fact, all the Allies had put most of the blame on Germany. He suffered from harsh punishments and the humility of a loser. With anger simmering in his heart, he waited for his chance of revenge.

And out of the darkness came a man, and man unlike any other. He was charismatic and passionate, strong-willed. He gave a reason to Germany to continue fighting, and reasons for why the world was so bad. Germany knew the time had come, and together with the small man with the small black mustache and rigidly combed hair, they planned to conquer the world.

But attacking Russia while still fighting England and France? That would be insane. Besides, it wasn't as if Russia was posing an immediate threat. He and Russia had signed a Non-Aggression pact. Germany still received much needed supplies from Russia's house.

But...

But maybe it could be done. It was actually very probable, now that he thought about it. German troops had been marching through Europe in an unstoppable force, claiming victory after victory. And Russia's was nowhere near the German's level. Russia was behind in pretty much everything with his military, and the people were miserable and depressed.

"It could be done." Germany replied cautituously. The whole train of thought had taken seconds, memories flicking by and thoughts dancing. The man sitting in front of Germany smiled.

"It won't take any longer then eight to ten weeks." the man promised. Germany raised an eyebrow. He didn't want to become too prideful, but he had to agree; Russia would prove an easy target. "We will attack on June 22. Operation _Barbarossa _will begin."

Germany smiled.

Russia shook the bottle, staring moodily into it. Then he took a swig, and set the empty bottle done. He waited for the buzz to hit him, but it never did. Years of practice had dulled it. He sighed, leaning back in the chair, contemplating.

His phone rang. Russia glared at for several seconds, willing it to stop, but it persistently shrilled its call. He finally reached out, picking it up, and said heavily, "Yes?"

"Sir, German troops have been massing at the border. There have also been reports of Luftwaffe planes flying over the border more often than usual. Orders, sir?"

Russia groaned inwardly. He knew what was coming; Germany was planning to attack again. Recently, he had been getting an uncomfortable amount of calls like this, telling him the warning signs of an attack. One of their most trustworthy spies stationed at Japan's house had even confirmed a date for the attack. But when Russia went and reported to his superior, the immediate order was to not do _anything. _This frustrated the tall country beyond belief. It was apparent and obviously evident that Germany was planning to invade and crush them. But if it was so evident, then why wasn't he allowed to prepare a defense? Russia squeezed his scarf.

The waiting was driving him insane.


	2. June 22, 1941

_June 22, 1941: 2:00 A.M._

The phone rang again, waking Russia up. He sat up fast, his heart pounding, remembering the nightmares that often plagued his sleep. As he picked up the phone, he remembered a scene...

It was a memory, really. Most of his dreams were. But it was the awfulness that worried him – the cold that lingered through out his body, the hunger that gnawed and twisted his body. He remembered bodies piled high, and a red flag waving in the icy breeze. Snow fell, mixing with ash and blood, become a gray-red paste underneath his feet. The Royal family had been imprisoned, and the Bolsheviks had been victorious. It was a new start! The people said. Russia had seen many new starts. They were always replaced with other 'new starts.' He saw other countries move into his house, and then there were countries he dragged back forcefully. He didn't really mind; it was nice having the company and the servants.

His dream ended with him crashing into Liet's house, grabbing him and hauling him back to his own house. Liet had pleaded and spat, but had eventually dwindled to shivering and glaring dejectedly at Russia. Russia didn't really care. He had successfully brought another country home. That feeling of weary success lingered as Russia picked up the phone.

"What?" he asked.

"Sir! The Germans have attacked!" a man's urgent voice rang through the ear piece. Russia felt the floor fall away. In the background, he could hear men's cries and shots. "What should we do, sir?" the man pleaded.

"I-... I don't know. Let me ask my superior."

He put the phone down, shocked. Germany had attacked? Insane! But he knew it had been coming for a while now. Russia pulled on a shirt and some pants, hurriedly walking to his superior's room. The more time he wasted, the more men died.

The Boss lay in his bed with his wife. "Sir," Russia whispered. "Comrade,"

The man's steely eyes flicked open. "Germany has attacked, comrade. What should we do?"

"Nothing," he said. Russia paused, and then nodded.

"Yes, sir." he walked numbly back to the phone, calling the soldier and relaying the order. He heard a terrified silence from the other end of the phone, and the soldier began to plead desperately.

"Those are the orders," Russia said evenly. He put the phone down, knowing that the soldiers would not disobey. They were still terrified of the Boss. After the Great Purge, the leader of Russia had every officer fearing him. Russia buried his face with his hands.

His house seemed to be a deck of cards, glued together with fear and oppression.

The Boss himself soon stumbled out of the room, picking up the phone. "I give you full permission to retaliate," he said harshly into the phone. "Hello?" he called. Russia closed his eyes, knowing full well it was too late. All the men at that hold were gone now. He knew the Germans would probably have wiped them out. Those men were dead.

And it had taken only a matter of hours.

Germany smiled coldly. The attack had gone like planned. And the stupid Slavs didn't even fight back... It was so easy, it was almost boring.

And this attack was going to hurt them badly. They had lost many of their already degraded tanks and planes. Many soldiers were now dead, and Russian morale was going to be surely lowered. These stupid Russian peasants thought they were unbeatable, when in reality they were sitting ducks, waiting to be shot and butchered. Germany's lips curled. Disgusting. This lower level country, so beneath him.

Why was he even here? He wondered. His cold blue eyes took in the tundra. He didn't need the German people here. There were none; only _untermenschen. _ But his boss did like land. Russia certainly had a vast house. And wouldn't it be better for the world if he crushed the despicable communists once and for all? He was doing the world a favor.

"Press forward," he commanded quietly. "We've still got a long way till we reach Moscow."

Russia frantically thought. His soldiers had been beaten with little trouble. His only advantage over the ruthless Germans was the amount of men. But if the Red Army lack equipment and skill, then how was Russia supposed to win this war? He flopped onto the chair, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"I need some vodka," he muttered.

The door behind him clicked open. When he look up, he saw Belarus there, watching him with fierce eyes. She smoothed her apron and came over, brushing his face with her hand.

"Belarus," he murmured, sitting up quickly.

"I heard about the attack," she said, her husky voice worried. "Ukraine is overjoyed."

"What?" Russia asked.

"Are you alright?" Belarus pressed, leaning close, resting her arms on the chair. Russia leaned away, thinking.

"Why is Ukraine happy?" he asked.

"Because she hates your house," Belarus said. "She thinks Germany has come to free her." she shook her blonde head, her purple eyes sad. "She doesn't understand that if Germany comes to her house, he'll just want to use her. She's willing to give him anything if it means she can pray again." Belarus leaned closer, resting her forhead against Russia's. She smelled of snow and pine, and the lingering scent of blood. He was frightened of her, but he still loved his little sister.

"I thought ridding her of religion would bring us closer together..." Russia said sadly. "Why doesn't she understand that God is a barrier between our countries?"

"We don't need her," Belarus whispered. "We just need each other, big brother." She reached out with her arms, but Russia pushed her aside.

"Exactly," he said. "I'm your brother. No more of this nonsense, Belarus. There is a war going on. With Germany, our ally, none the less." Russia simmered for several seconds. _"Dammit!" _he yelled, hitting the wall. "How could he just turn around and attack us like that?"

"I don't know, brother." whispered his sister. She had her arms mournfully wrapped around her. "I don't know."

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked the air.


End file.
